


A lesson in holding

by SharaMichaels



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Family, Family Fluff, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5920597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharaMichaels/pseuds/SharaMichaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a month since the countess of Chagny died in childbirth. The young Philippe, viscount of Changy, has been swamped in work and actively avoiding meeting his newborn brother. Until one particular moonlit night, when his curiosity makes him set foot in that room that is never quiet: the infant's chamber.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A lesson in holding

 

It was only a little after a midnight when the young Philippe, Viscount de Chagny, signed the last thank you card, put the pen down and decided to head out to his room. One month since the countess passed away in childbirth and only now he managed to finish the little notes he was to send to the people who attended the funeral. One month... he didn’t even notice the time pass. Every day was filled with mundane paperwork and travels and meetings; he was seemingly living a separate life from the rest of his family and every glimpse of them did nothing but enhance his yearn for solitude.

The count of Chagny hadn’t smiled since the tragedy, nor cried, for that matter. He put on a neutral expression and kept living inside a cage of indifference, responding coldly to every question and dismissing any attempt at conversation. Much like his oldest son, he chose to consummate his grief alone. The staff was trying to act as happy as they could, but, as it usually happens during tough times, their gaiety was merely a mask and one could easily see past that. They all whispered to each other and sobbed in unison when cleaning out chambers that used to belong to the late countess, yet would immediately change their tone to one of fake happiness whenever the viscount happened to pass by. This habit of lying in broad daylight annoyed Philippe. The endless pity, his father’s absence, who was sending him notes as if he was a simple employee, the façade put on by the servants – all of these did nothing but deepen the viscount’s sadness.

And on top of everything, there was the baby, that tiny drop of life who came into the world at the expense of another. Philippe hadn’t gathered enough strength to meet him by then. He could hear the cries, those endless cries in the middle of the night, sometimes even in the middle of day, from his study. The room where the baby lived was never still. There were always maids coming in and out with sheets or clothing or food in their arms, but most of the times it was his sisters’ voices that would travel to his ears when he passed on an adjacent corridor. He couldn’t stand that baby, although the reason for this annoyance was not particularly clear in his head. Was he blaming the loss of a mother on his newborn brother? Was he dreading the idea of having to look after yet another sibling? Were the noise and agitation simply getting on his nerves? He couldn’t tell, but the second room on the left corridor from the first floor remained one in which the oldest from the de Chagny children never set foot.

The young viscount turned off the gas from his lamp and the room filled with the bright moonlight. He combed the ruffled hair with his fingers and headed towards his bedroom, holding his shoes in one hand, keen to make absolutely no sound. The full moon was spreading its cold light around the manor, giving the surroundings a dreamy aura. At the bottom of the stairs leading to the second floor, Philippe stopped and looked to his left, as if a hidden presence had turned his head for him. The door to the second room was opened and an eerie beam of light was shining into the corridor. At a whim, the young man changed his course and started in the direction of the light, drawn to it like a moth to the flame. He stopped in the doorway and peered inside. The moon was shining through the open curtains turning the scene before his eyes into something from a fairytale. A pompous child cradle lay in the middle of the room, surrounded by stuffed dolls and covered in silky sheets; fitting for a count’s descendant. On the bed next to it, he recognized the figure of Antoinette, the older of his two sisters. She was sprawled among pillows, with her hair in a curly mess and her dress lifted above her shins, clutching a woolen shawl that had long stopped covering her shoulders. Philippe tiptoed into the room, holding onto his shoes, careful not to make his presence known. He grabbed a blanket and gently placed it on his sister, then turned his attention towards the baby. He leaned over the cradle to look at him but flinched in surprise when he discovered the child was awake. The viscount approached him carefully, while his brother watched and moved his small hands in an unorderly fashion. What was the oldest sibling to do now? In the spur of the moment, he laid his shoes on the floor, then put out his hand and moved his fingers in front of the baby’s eyes, who followed them enthralled for a while; eventually he reached out himself and wrapped his little hand around his older brother’s finger. The viscount smiled and trailed his other hand along the baby’s cheeks, in a slightly clumsy caress.

“Hello, there…” He whispered. “Nice to meet you… Raoul.”

It was the first time he’d ever uttered his brother’s name. The emotion gathered up in his throat, threaten to erupt. Suddenly, a loud thump came from behind him. As he turned his head in surprise, Philippe saw the last of a large bird falling against the window. The baby shifted his gaze from his brother’s hand to his face, alarmed by the unexpected sound. The brothers locked eyes for a split of a second, then Raoul let out a sharp cry and started sobbing.

The viscount jumped three meters behind. His sister awoke and sprung to her feet. The messy image of her brother standing by the cradle startled her. She gasped and her eyes enlarged in terror, but no more than a moment later she recognized him, sighed and picked up the crying baby.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a playful tone, as she paced the room trying to put the baby back to sleep. “You don’t look particularly great, if I’m allowed to say; you scared me.”

Philippe looked flustered at his sister.

“I- I know… I was just going to bed-” he couldn’t find his words; in truth, he didn’t have a reason why he picked the middle of the night out of all moments to pay a visit to his brother. Antoinette was right: standing there only in his shirt and waistcoat, with his sleeves rolled up, messy hair and no shoes, he must have been a peculiar sight.

“I don’t know. I finished writing thank you letters for- for people who came to the funeral. And I felt the need to come here” he added in a small voice, noticing the veil of sadness falling over his sister’s eyes. She wrapped a blanket over the baby and kept rocking him back and forth gently, until he stilled and quieted, falling back in the deep, peaceful sleep of infants.

Philippe stood rooted on his spot, watching his sister whispering calming words and lines from old songs. Although her tone was jolly and reassuring, there was a mute sadness in her eyes which was breaking the viscount’s heart.

When she became convinced Raoul fell asleep, she lifted her gaze towards her older brother.

“I am quite glad to see you here, Philippe. I almost forgot what you look like. Good thing we have the same nose.”

He just smiled back at her.

“Would you like to hold him?” she whispered, like it was the most normal thing on the planet.

“Me?” asked Philippe, as if he were not the only other person in room capable of this. “No, no… no. I can’t. I don’t know how- I’ll just drop him. I can’t. You’re doing a great job without me.”

She shook her head and giggled to herself.

“Don’t be silly. How could you _drop_ him? I promise you no such thing will happen. Come here.” And she made a move with her head, signaling him to follow her.

Philippe walked sheepishly behind his sister. Antoinette sat on the edge of the bed, checking the baby, making sure he was comfortably wrapped in the blanket and still asleep. Then she looked up at her older brother and complied him, with another head movement, to sit down beside her.

“Now” she started once she felt him next to her “put out your hands.” The viscount was hesitating, so her tone grew more commanding: “do it! Don’t be scared, there is literally nothing to be afraid of. Come on, everybody has held him before.”

He obliged and gasped audibly when she placed the sleeping child in his arms.

“Hold his body like this and let his head rest on the curve of your elbow… like this, yes like this” she whispered, fitting his arms in the right positions. Philippe looked up at her when she retracted her own hands and he found himself holding his brother all by himself; all the emotions in the world were swimming in his eyes.

“Oh, Lord…” was all he managed, before he felt a knot clogging up his throat.

Antoinette kept her gaze fixated on the child and ran a finger across his hands. Fortunately, the darkness is good at hiding one’s emotions from the other. Then she reached behind to retrieve her shawl, which she wrapped around her shoulders.

Philippe heard her yawn and sigh behind him, and caught her stretching out her arms at the corner of his eye.

„You should go to bed. I think I’ve got this.” He whispered with smile.

„No... I’m fine. It’s my turn to sit with him tonight and I am fully committed to that. You’re the one who needs sleep. I’ve seen you toiling at that paperwork every day. And I’ve already mentioned you look terrible.”

But none of them made any move.

“See, you’re natural at this. You should come here more often Philippe. I know Raoul would certainly be happy to see more of his brother. ” Antoinette spoke. “And I’m pretty sure it will only do you good to spend time with him. I think babies are therapeutic in a way. ”

“What makes you think this?”

“I have seen father with him, you know. The night mother- That night, I’ve never seen such desperation as I’ve seen on his face. Yet when he picked his child, Raoul instantly stopped crying and the all the grief in father’s eyes vanished. They looked like they belonged together; the same flesh, the same blood. I am telling you, the way father’s face lights up whenever he’s in here is one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen. Raoul is the only one who can ease his frown.”

The night was calm and silent, aside from the sound of each other breathing. Philippe was too enthralled by the baby sleeping in his arms to notice the loving gaze of his sister pinned at his face; it was only when he only felt her fingers brushing his hair and lingering on the back of his neck that he turned his head in her direction.

„I love you a lot, dear brother. I really do. Please never feel too embarrassed to talk to me.”

He nodded and she slipped her arms around his waist, pressing her body next to his and resting her head on his shoulder.

„What are you doing?” he inquired with an amused tone.

„We’re never too old to be held, not even when we’re completely capable of standing on two feet.”

His only response was a deep sigh, erupting from the depths of his soul.

“Can I tell you something, Antoinette?”

“Of course.”

“I think I am going to really miss mother.”

It was her turn to sigh. Then Antoinette pressed a kiss on her older brother’s cheek, nestled her head on his shoulder and tighten her embrace. When she spoke again, her voice was a faint whisper, trying hard to hide a sob.

“I know. Me too. ”

He tilted his head back, rejoicing in her warm embrace and pressed his eyelids together. When his eyes came open again, the tears that were crowding inside sprung all at once, together with the sobs of so many nights spent hiding in the solitude of his study.


End file.
